Jack of Clubs
by DarkVampire111
Summary: People die every day, and sometimes there are people that help them along a little faster. The House of Cards is a specialized group that help a few people along into the river styx. People die every day, nothing to do about it. The Jack of Clubs is the most dangerous of all, because Jack has a few more agendas than the rest of the face cards. They all have their reasons


Jack Vessalius Glen Baskerville |

Oswald Baskerville, Lacie Baskerville, Gilbert Nightray, Vincent Nightray, Oz Vessalius, Miranda Barma, Isla Yura

Additional Tags: Assassins & Hitmen Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Secret Identity Family Secrets Secret Organizations Victorian Murderers Plotbunnies Blood and Violence

Language: English

 **Jack of Clubs**

Summary:

People die every day, and sometimes there are people that help them along a little faster.  
The House of Cards is a specialized group that... helps a few people along into the river styx. People die every day, nothing to do about it.  
The Jack of Clubs is the most dangerous of all, because Jack has a few more agendas than the rest of the face cards. They all have their reasons for playing the game, some are just better at it than others. And the face cards are very good, and maybe they cheat at times too. With a few wild cards in play it promises to be an interesting and bloody game.

* * *

 **\Dark Circles/**

* * *

 ** _The_** wind tugged playfully at the hem of a long, dull-maroon cloak as a tall, slender, but sculpted man sauntered down the darkened back street. There were a few scattered lights besides the gleam of the sliver moon but his face remained safely unseen, shrouded under the large hood. A long breath slid past closed teeth, his smooth lips parted in a nefarious smile at a job flawlessly executed. Thin soled boots moved soundlessly over the ground, leaving no trace, as if he were merely an apparition passing by. No one had seen him, no one at all, so he had no reason to hurry away - People noticed more when you ran versus when you walked calmly anyway.

Long, slender fingers you might typically find attached to a musician of some kind gently and methodically removed a set of stained black gloves to toss them neatly on a random doorstep. His long braid hung down the center of his back, thumping against his spine, but remained totally hidden under the length of the cape. The decorative clasp rubbed at his collarbone ever so lightly, but not so much that he would notice it even against the slight amount of skin showing there behind a partly unbuttoned shirt.

Tonight, he earned every cent he had taken for this job. It had been swift, neat, and untraceable as always. The client had an unshakable alibi, as did all the servants of the house, considering the grand party going on. No one could ever tie this back to that client no matter how desperately they might try. A light, airy, but sinister chuckle rose from him as he sped up slightly. They would, however, be utterly sure it could be tied to someone else. Sufficient proof would never be found, but all the little hints were there for the catching, placed so carefully. People would talk, as they always did. False clues were an art form, really; too many or too obvious and investigators smelled a trap, but too few could mean they were not picked up at all.

Oh, he adored how well he could walk that line, never once slipping even though that thin line was held up so high one trip would mean a fall to the death. Of course, he would not mind it that much if he fell, but there were so many reasons he could not allow himself to. There were many things he had to do before he was finished, and Jack was a perfectionist, never liking to leave a job half finished.

The biting chill of the night air felt glorious against his lily smooth skin. Perhaps it would snow tonight if he was fortunate. Snow was wonderful because it reminded him of a much happier time. Memories were all he had anymore so they were made all the more lovely. He breathed in several deep breaths of the crisp air, relishing it the way he did a fine wine.

When he went home tonight he would have to crawl back through his second floor bedroom window. It should not be too hard, no one ever noticed him late at night. The singular time the pesky old attendant did he simply assumed the young man had been out gallivanting with a sultry lady of the night, not so unlike his father had done in his younger days, which was fine by him. Nothing else mattered so long as he could move about freely and achieve his goals.

As long as he could drag the people he hated most in this world down into the pits of hell, he would endure any amount of mockery or punishment anyone could send his way. As long as Jack could personally drag the monsters into the inferno where they came from, send them far out of his way, he would be happy. Once they knew his suffering it would be too late and he would have traded sides with them; they would be in his place and he would be glorying in theirs.

* * *

There was a soft and more than usually hesitant knock on the door that instantly made the tall, slender man gazing out the window shut his eyes a moment and take in a steadying breath through his thin nose. The sparsely furnished little cubbyhole of a room made the sound much too loud even as quiet as it was. The young lord knew by the apprehensive taps alone that the news would never be to his liking and he sincerely did not want to shatter the few moments of peace he had in this room, the only place the general bundle of servants did not know about, but he knew there was no use at all trying to ignore the problem away. He reached out to rest his fingertips on the white trim sill to solidify his nerve. There were times he wished the childish ideal of hiding ones head from sight meant nothing else existed.

"Enter." He called out only just loud enough to be heard.

A built, large man entered - the sort of man young people and old alike would never hope to see on a dark night, "My lord, it appears there has been another murder, a Prime Minister." His voice was far lower than his master's, a deep base against a near empty room.

Dark, ominous eyes narrowed as the stiff, regal figure turned to face the man, "Was it like the others, a hired killer?"

"It appears so, my lord." The strange, jagged edge tattoo on the right side of his round face became more than slightly visible as the man slowly lifted his head.

"Is there any indication of the culprit's identity or location?" He stared unyielding at the man he knew well after so many years of service.

An awkward silence and hesitant affirming shake of the head was all the answer needed from the servant.

Expertly made silk billowed with a swish as the Glen turned on his heels sharply to face away from the other. He tipped his head, allowing his smooth, fringed, onyx hair to fall over his eyes. The anger boiling in him was well hidden behind a stoic façade but those closest to him could always tell when something disturbed him. He was indeed disturbed, and rightly so. It was the same as always, had been the same in nearly every case, those planted clues left behind at the scenes to lead investigators to this household time and time again.

Either someone was doing a sickly beautiful job of framing them, or someone in his house was a traitor. Neither thought sat well on his stomach. The indications were very clear and very unwelcome to any lord or lady, but especially this one.

Doug was utterly silent as he stood in the doorway to await an order. He was a man of few words, a little like Glen himself was, so they got along. Fang and Charlotte were far more talkative of the three highest ranking servants in the Baskerville's household but Glen could always count on Doug to be directly to the point where the other two might dance around the subject a little longer.

"Report any further developments to me at once." Glen waved his hand in dismissal and listened to the door click shut.

Once the door was closed he folded his arms over the smooth and polished wood of the piano, the only real piece of furniture in the room, and allowed himself to collapse atop it, leaning his upper body onto it for support. The cold surface felt good against his cheek even though he had seen snow falling outside. The situation was frazzling and draining his soul until he was not sure he could endure it. He could not stand the thought of a traitor amongst his people. There was absolutely no possibility Fang, Doug, or Charlotte would betray him but he was quite sure none of the others in the house would either.

There was a chance that one of the people he held counsel with outside his household was betraying him but there was little he could do if that were the case. He had to keep those ties alive or his entire household would suffer or crumble. Politics were a wretched and tricky thing that had already stripped him of everything he held dear but it was a hungry beast that never could be filled until it had sucked the very meat from ones bones. His supporters were a fast dying breed, quite literally since the spree of deaths, and he could not afford to cut any more ties no matter how apprehensive he was about continuing the contacts.

He wanted to ignore it all and hide in his tiny sanctuary forever but he was no fool, he knew ignoring problems only made them grow larger. He closed his deep amethyst eyes and pressed his forehead to the piano. While he could not remain here forever, he could stay here for a few more peaceful moments, just a few to give him the energy to step outside to the waiting wolves. They were a hungry bunch and nothing he gave them was ever enough. This news would make the rest of the evening vastly more complicated and he would be walking through thorns all the way.

* * *

The patchy ceiling loomed dark, but jade eyes traced the cracks he knew all too well after so many years of staring up at that same view, arms crossed over his chest as he lie still, lumpy mattress pressing into his back to remind him of tender muscles he was not previously aware he had. Long, silken, sun-kissed, golden hair spilled around him like waves of the sea, free to move from the usual braid he kept them in only at night. The warm body beside him was curled up into a tight ball, carefully facing away from him. Little shivers ran through that small, nearly frail body, so slight most people would never have noticed. His half lidded eyes opened slightly as he glanced at his young bed-mate. Material ground together with the sound of grains rubbing in opposing directions as Jack turned onto his side, sliding an arm around Oz's upper body.

"Are you cold?" Jack's voice was soft, but prompting as he rested the side of his face against the back of his little brother's head; those soft, choppy, short, golden hairs tickling his cream skin at the first touch.

"No, I'm fine." Oz whispered, words sickly familiar after so many times of hearing them from a boy that never let a living soul near his negative emotions - Only Jack knew just how vast a lie they were, even if he did not know what they were hiding tonight.

"Don't you dare give me that line, Oz!" His elder brother voice surfaced, even if it was soft, "I know when you're lying to me. Give me just a little more credit than you do everyone else," Slender fingers moved up, grazing the cheaply made night shirt as he tugged the other's back close against his chest, "What's wrong?"

Fingers slid up to grip the sleeve of Jack's own nightshirt, unconsciously pulling his arm more tightly around his smaller frame, "Jack, I..." Oz cut himself off, on the verge of either telling his brother everything or crying, one of the two.

Wordlessly, he slid in closer behind the boy, molding his body to fit around the other. An intake of air brought with it the smell of freshly washed hair, dry, but with that lingering smell of water. With his little brother, there were times being quiet, and making him feel safe were the best ways to draw out those words he tried so hard never to spill. That smaller body fit just perfectly into the curves of his own, giving him an easier time of ensuring that feeling of safety lingered. All he had to do was tuck that head under his chin, shift his other arm under his neck, and simply enclose Oz in a wrapped safety net in his embrace. It worked nearly every time.

Their _lovely_ mother was in her own room, asleep hours ago. Sounds from outside had died down long ago; even the thin walls of their home betrayed nothing happening out there. For the moment, the two were soundly tucked away in their little pocket of the world. They were rather close, even if neither one of them let their emotions show that often. They were terribly alike; not only in looks, but in the way they dealt with life. Both of them tended to shut out the world and fold in on their own emotions, never letting anyone see their true face. The blond, green-eyed set were like a mirror of the other, short of being twins only because of age difference. The older of the two was far darker, hollow, and dead on the inside, but part of him always thought his brother would be the same if given a bit of time. Still, the boy was so gentle, so fragile, and kind it made him sure they were less alike than he could guess. Secrets darkened both of them but his brother held onto just a bit more light than he had. Part of him hated that this child could hold onto it when he could hardly remember possessing it at all, but he also wanted to protect that part as long as he could.

"I'm... frightened, Jack." Oz finally let the words trip off his tongue in a clumsy and quiet burst.

Jack said nothing, settling closer in silence to prompt elaboration.

"Sometimes... I think there is something wrong with me." He nuzzled his face into his older brother's arm as he continued, "Most of the time I'm fine, but then other times it's like my mind just clicks off and I find myself in strange places without any idea how I got there! I get these huge gaps of time and I have no idea what happened from one time to the next... and yesterday..."

Pulling Oz any closer was nearly impossible, but he tried when that little body began trembling again, "It's alright, Oz... you can tell me anything, you know that. Don't hide it from me when something frightens you, just tell me everything and we will work on it together."

"I don't know what to do. I'm afraid of myself and… what I might have done. Yesterday I was going to the bakery for mother and the next thing I knew…" Oz's voice quivered, "The next thing… I…had blood all over my hands… it wasn't mine." He twisted himself around in the larger arms to hide his face in his brother's chest, "Jack, what could I have done?"

Jack's shoulder was jerked suddenly upward and to the side, his mind whirled to comprehend his situation as he gasped, heart rate spiking, and eyes flying open. The vision of Oz was gone, his desperate little voice distant and replaced by a very unhappy, half dead hawk looking butler. It took him a few moments to grasp the fact that he had been dreaming, or perhaps remembering in his sleeping moments would have been a more accurate description. The young man sat up in his large chair quickly, scrambling to pull his mind into the current times, the time where he was sitting at the overly huge lunch table in the Vessalius house to wait on some businessman intent on becoming partners with his father… the time he apparently fell asleep while waiting on a slow to arrive old miser. He was sleepy from his late night out so he must have taken a moment to close his eyes but wound up asleep.

"Young Master," the words held more venom than they should have from a servant, "Duke Morison is here. I will show him in once you have collected yourself."

The blond smiled brightly, chuckling as he brushed at his hair with his gloved fingers to smooth it into place, "Thank you for alerting me. I must have dozed off while I was sitting here."

"It would seem you did, sir." The dark cast, flawlessly dressed, old man loathed tacking on those honorific titles reserved for his masters when addressing the new member of the house, and it showed in every single curt answer or sharp look.

The new young duke smiled gently anyway, pleased with how oblivious he could make the man believe he was to the blatant hatred he was shown – There was something satisfying to playing dumb when people detested you.

The past five months had been a whirling wind that carried him in wild directions, so wild he hardly believed it all himself, but he ended up exactly where he wanted to be, where he had been fighting to go for a long time. Time was a burden, one that moved slowly and grew heavier with every moment one was forced to carry it.

He flinched just slightly, so slight no one would ever have noticed it, when he heard the click of the door that meant that visitor was being let in. Jack honestly detested the people his _wonderful_ father worked with, hated society with all its fangs, claws, and snarling while they outwardly kept up fronts of innocence. There was no choice but to put up with it though if he intended to climb the ladder to be one of the powerful ones amongst the stupid pigeons. _Dearest_ father though he was working so hard to earn his new place in this house and trying to help build the family name as the eldest son, which was quiet a long way from the truth, but he could see no harm in letting that line of thought continue in that addled, egotistical old man's head.

Since the now deceased wife of his had only been able to give him a daughter, he had turned what had previously been a blind eye back onto the two sons he gained through a mistress. Illegitimate or not they were the best he had to keep the Vessalius house standing. Lies had been spun about a previous marriage and subsequent divorce before his marriage to his daughter's mother, which were not looked on terribly well, but it was several steps up from the truth. It was hideously ironic that Oz and Jack's own mother died only a few weeks before her dearest love came for the boys. If she lived a little longer she would have been compensated for bringing forth two heirs in order to silence her.

It was all Jack could do not to allow his jaw to fall open or his eyes to widen, all he could do to fortify the pleasant expression onto his face as he watched the second man walk in behind the slow moving Morison. The jet black hair and overly thin, drawn asymmetrical face was something easy to recognize but the Nightray emblem pinned at his throat was undeniable.

"I hope you do not mind terribly but I brought one of my partners with me as well," He chuckled jovially the way all rich old men seemed to, "I thought it would be easier for us all that way."

Jack had to grit his teeth through the kind smile, "Oh, no, not at all! I am only too happy to accommodate." He gestured smoothly toward the chairs, "The more the merrier!"

"If you will excuse my bluntness, I am unsure you can trust him considering his… questionable background." The Nightray stared at the blond without the slightest hint of guilt from the blatant verbal slap across the face, "The Vessalius house has been gaining power but that is thanks to the head of house, not thanks to the offspring."

Jack tilted his head to prop his cheek onto his knuckles, chuckling amiably, "You will still be doing business with my father, I am simply standing in for him while he is away." No matter how calm he remained outwardly it did not prevent his fantasies of reaching over and gutting him like most people would a trout, "But if I may, I do not believe I have ever given you reason to doubt my integrity or my capability to assist my father in business matters. The simple fact that my father entrusted me with this meeting indicates he deemed me fit… which he would not do lightly with such important matters. Perhaps you could find it within yourself to offer me the chance to prove my usefulness?"

* * *

Gilbert swallowed, tugging at the collar of his large jacket, sharp golden eyes darting around the busy street from the little table at the store. It was warm enough out that he was tempted to take the long overcoat off but that would be bothersome to gather up when he needed to get up, so he left it on. His large rimmed black hat sat on the table, close enough for him to reach it quickly to plop it down over his dark head of hair if he needed to leave quickly. Everything he did was about time and how best to save it when or if he needed to rush.

Gingerly, he reached into the bag of peanuts and pulled one out. A thousand things were running through his mind all at once, things he had to do, things he had to avoid doing, things that might go wrong. The waiting part of this game was always what he loathed. He liked the fast jobs where he could run in and right back out, none of this watching the clock. Absently he worked at the shell, lifting the broken thing to his mouth to retrieve the nut housed inside.

The door to the shop behind him shut with a loud crash as a customer left. His body instantly tensed, eyes darting to the door, nut and shell falling to the ground. His narrowed eyes drifted from the exit to the fallen treat, reaching for a new one. He did so hate to wait. It fried every nerve in his body.

"That's no good, brother," the duel eyed blond beside him mumbled, lips curling around the shell of his own peanut and sucking at the salt, "you are far too tense."

Gilbert said nothing, snapping the shell of his new peanut instead.

Red and gold orbs lifted to lock with Gilbert's as he reclined in his chair, ever so casually tossing a bit of hair off the shoulder of his contrasting black coat, the ruffle at his sleeve catching on some of the hair to drag it right back where it was, "People are more likely to remember you after if you are too tense." His gentle voice was so calm and smooth as he said those words.

The raven haired young man nodded mutely as he silently marveled at his younger brother, a picture of tranquility itself as he sat like some little clothing model in a shop. Nothing ever seemed to fluster Vincent, and if it did, no one was ever the wiser. That innocent face of his just never betrayed a thing, very much like Jack in his looks and unshakability. Even that red eye of his did nothing to dampen the seeming innocence of this person, so perfect and controlled it nearly made him envious. While they looked very similar in face, thin, but sculpted and symmetrical, Gilbert never could pull off that innocence the way Vincent could - People called him dark and brooding. Running a hand through his thick black hair, he watched as his brother's lips curled slightly as he snapped the shell between his teeth. It was amazing how he could manage to make even rude behavior seem polished and elegant.

Gilbert's breath came out in a sigh, "You are better at this stuff than I am. Why am I even here? This is not my style at all."

Vincent chortled softly, looking a little too amused for the subject matter, "Because I need your help." His pointed shoulders rose and fell in a little shrug, "But don't worry… Gil can have the man; I know how it bothers you to destroy the helpless women. I can take the mistress so Gil does not have to worry." The tips of his fingers stroked down the knuckles of his older brother's hand, "We can exterminate them quickly and easily, but don't forget how we have to leave the scene. This mark is supposed to look bloody."

Gilbert nodded as he stood up quickly like a statue being lifted into place, "I know, just be sure not to get it on you, we still have to go home."

Those duel eyes stared up at him, warm smile there to mollify his ridged brother, "Of course, Gil, you know how careful I always am." Vincent's sleek figure rose with all the fluid grace of a practiced dancer, his elder brother's opposite.

* * *

The dank little room was filled with candles, the only way they could actually see while being so far underground with the above door shut tight. Everything felt wet down there even if it was dry. There was nothing homey about it but none of them exactly minded, they had all been in much worse. Disgraced at some point in their lives, cast out in others, they learned to endure about anything. They might not like it but they were not put off by it. It was safe and that was all they needed.

It was called _The House of Cards,_ overly dramatic, but they generally called it the _Deck_.

A brief glimpse of chocolate eyes caught hold of Jack before he turned away again, "I am pleased with your work. You fit into that world remarkably well." Yura told him in a calm voice, but that hysteria lingered just on the cusps, like the insanity could not help showing itself in simple ways.

Jack could not help a bitter smile, chin tipping downward, eyes turning away as he chimed a happy sounding, "Thank you."

But of course he was fitting in, that was what he was best at, adapting and melding to fit whatever container he was placed in. They all really underestimated his ability to accurately alter himself to best fit those around him. Reading people, places, and situations was as much a reflex as blinking. Getting to people, it was deliciously easy. When one had no true shape of their own, they could go into anything effortlessly. On more than one occasion he had been compared to water, some terming him in a good light and others simply insulting. Still, it was true, he was exactly like water; he could be soothing, gentle, light, and pleasant, or he could be dark, overpowering, and deadly. Water did not care about the status of those it sustained or those it drowned.

"Already so famous, Jack, in more than one way."

Jack fussed and straightened the jabot at his neck, smoothing his Frockcaot to be sure the other man could not place an inconspicuous hand over his that squeezed just a little too tightly. Miranda was flitting about in her houppelande, fingers sunk into the jaw slits of one of her many skulls. The billowing sleeves and the way she twirled with a smile almost made it seem innocent.

They were insane, all of them, even himself. But they were very good at what they did.

In many games the Club was considered the lowest class card, the 'cast off' of card society, to an extent. In other games though, the Club was referred to as the "Killer Card". In this little group, each member fit into both categories. They were the outcasts in their own homes, but honestly, did no one understand that it was the unexpected ones that always won the game?

It was true, they called him the "Jack of Clubs" in the little circle... he always rather considered himself more of a wild card. It was a play on words, but it was more than that to him. He gave himself that title for his own reason. That position he held was the truest to how he felt in life – Higher than any of the non face cards, but never the highest, just the link between worlds... always with two spots out of his reach. The Queen of Hearts and the King of Spades would always be over him, so close he could touch them, yet never equal to them, and snatched away too easily. Truly though, it was hard two place those two in any one category, their uniqueness hard to cage into one category, but those were the ones he finally decided on.

Vincent was jokingly called the "Queen of Hearts" for a couple of reasons; mainly his 'weapon' of choice, or its mistaken name. Though hearts did not fit him at all, not in the card types they played with. There was no question at all that Vincent was a club with perhaps a tiny dash of diamond, but mainly a club. Gilbert was nearly a full club too, so withdrawn and antisocial with all but a handful of people, but his secondary might be more spade than anything.

They were unique, each one, with individual style. They were also the best. They never got caught, so how crazy could they be if they outfoxed the sane world?

* * *

I know, I know, this is nerdy! I did it anyway! So you understand this, I went off the Bartel Test for this fic tone. Don't judge me, I thought it would be cool to use... This test uses four suits in order to distinguish different player personalities. You can wiki the Bartle Test if you like but simple format is:

Clubs (Killers): enjoy competition and take pleasure in causing physical destruction in the environment.

Diamonds (Achievers): enjoy gaining points, levels, or any physical measure of their in-game achievement.

Hearts (Socializers): enjoy playing games for the social aspect or by interacting with other players.

Spades (Explorers): enjoy digging around, discovering new areas, or learning about tricks and glitches in the game.

Anyway, that's were I got the title and some other ideas. Hope you enjoy this fic! I will try to keep them all in character, because they are perfect as they were created, why would I change them?! QAQ Eh, so I promise to do my best with that even though this is TOTALLY AU. I don't do AU like this very often but I just was looking at Jack and marveling over (everything that he is) how he can be so gentle and yet so insanely cold blooded all at once... and then the cards thing... and it just spiraled from there!

Honestly, I probably won't update this for a while. I have lots of ideas but I also have other fics I'm working on, but I needed to get this out of my files so I dropped out the first portion. For now I'm counting it as a one shot that I'll do more with later.


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